Pens and the Ink Well
by DrKCooper
Summary: A bit of a continuation of themes in both "A Burden in the Blood" (4x8) and "Miss Taken" (4x7).


_Disclaimer: All recognizable_ Elementary _characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners including, but not limited to Arthur Conan Doyle and CBS. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this fan fiction story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No financial gain is associated with the publishing of this story. No copyright infringement is intended._

 _Author's Note: I actually began formulating this story before I'd seen the preview for this week's episode and Sherlock's suspicions about Joan and Det. Bell. It actually worked perfectly to merge what came of both episodes. So, consider this a bit of a post-ep for both_ _A Burden in the Blood_ _(4x8) and_ _Miss Taken_ _(4x7). -dkc_

 **Pens and the Ink Well**

"Watson, what is it that bothers you so much about your stepfather's book? Aren't all mysteries prone to being what you Americans call 'campy'? I'm not understanding what has you in such a foul mood."

Sherlock had followed Joan downstairs to her private office space in the brownstone basement after she had more or less slammed a copy of the book down on the table after picking it up and realizing what it was.

"Sherlock, after your certainty that Detective Bell and I were sleeping together, forgive me if I hesitate to let you in on how I feel about anything," she was rummaging through her desk for something and avoiding eye contact with her partner.

"I admit I got that wrong, but the two of you were hiding something from me. In this case I only want an answer to why something bothers you. I find the question far less invasive, especially given that you have made up with your stepfather."

"Why doesn't it bother you?" came her retort, stalling her hunt.

"I find it harmless, something I think you would be wise to consider. He has not betrayed our business in any way. Client privacy being of utmost importance."

He had said the word privacy in that British way that she usually found charming. Right now it got under her skin quickly. She was resenting how nonplussed he continued to be over a book chronicling their work and their relationship so poorly.

"But our lives, Sherlock, he showed no respect for who we are as people!" she fired back.

"I suspect he respects you despite your no longer being a surgeon, Watson. It is hardly worth ruminating over."

She gave him a look that expressed her annoyance with his mentioning her former profession. He knew better and she was making that perfectly clear with her stare.

"Is this about the sexual encounter depicted following the suspect's disappearance in the book?" he got right to the heart of the matter without quite grasping it exactly. "I found it tasteful and certainly not misogynistic."

"That's not the point. It could have been highly explicit and demeaning and it would be as offensive. We aren't sleeping together, Sherlock!" she finally said what was truly bothering her or at least how she perceived it.

"I lack a sense of whether you are bothered by the mere suggestion of our sex lives or you are distressed by the untruth in it," he stood with his arms at his sides, his face calm and revealing no emotion.

"It's a lie!" she folded her arms across her chest and sat in her desk chair.

"Yes," he nodded. "We have become accustomed to our work being misrepresented in the press and the police often being given credit for our successes. I don't recall you responding as adamantly about those lies."

She crossed her legs, the skirt she was wearing revealing more of her legs than was possible for any man to avoid noticing. There was something about his attraction to her legs that made him realize what he had not accounted for in his attempt to understand her reaction.

"You are dismayed by the fact that we are not having sexual intercourse," he said matter-of-factly, barely blinking as he did.

"What?!" she was on her feet now. "That is not why I object to how we are portrayed in the book!"

"I notice you did not address my statement directly."

She moved toward the stairs as she considered a proper reply. She continued, climbing the stairs and moving toward their kitchen where she occupied herself with making tea; he followed close behind.

"That has nothing to do with my irritation with how we were depicted and it wouldn't make any difference if we were sleeping together," she turned on the stove and turned her back to him.

"Watson, you avoid, whether intentionally or not, the matter at hand," he pressed. "Are you or are you not bothered by the fact that we are not lovers?"

Joan let out a heavy sigh that seemed to require all of the built up tension in her small shoulders to achieve.

"We make exceptional partners, a formidable team, our living arrangement suits us. Sex would only complicate that. And this doesn't account for attraction."

Her hand held tight to the handle of the kettle. She was afraid of losing her ability to manage the conversation if she let go.

"Complications can be stimulating, a challenge worth pursuing," he looked to the floor after finishing his comment.

She spun around to look at him. He spoke again, this time mumbling and to the floor.

"I assure you, Watson, no one would deny that you are a very attractive woman."

"There is a difference between recognizing a woman to be attractive and actually finding her attractive. It's very personal, Sherlock. You, of course, know this."

She returned her attention to the teakettle, removing it from the stove as the steam began to force a slight whistling sound. She went about pouring two cups of tea, a habit. When she turned to offer a cup to him, he had closed the distance between them and was much closer than she had anticipated. The cup touched his chest as his eyes found hers. Reaching up, he wrapped his hand around both the cup and the hand she used to hold it out to him.

"Do not misunderstand what I am saying, Joan…" the way he spoke her name was uncommon enough that it caused a slight shiver down her spine. He was looking at her in a way he also had not allowed himself over the years of their partnership.

"What _are_ you saying?" she spoke.

There was a moment that passed, a short, but important moment, as he passed the warm cup from one hand to the other, setting it down on the counter behind Joan Watson. He didn't allow her to retrieve the hand she had offered, however. He brought that small hand to his strong, hard chest.

"A pen in the company ink well," he began, his words lower and softer than his normal speaking voice. "I will exorcise my pride and admit a jealousy of Marcus. Prior to knowing the scheme in which the two of you were committed."

"Jealousy?" she whispered. "Of our possible—"

"Yes," he stopped her. "You are an attractive woman, a worthy partner and I am but a flawed man with carnal appetites."

She smiled at his words. Only Sherlock would speak like this. There was something endearing about it.

"You want to do me," she teased him as she pushed against his chest.

He feigned disappoint in her tone, though his smirk gave him away.

" _Do_ is not a word I would utilize."

"Oh? But 'dipping a pen in the company ink well' was suitable?" she smiled.

Sherlock refused to release Joan's hand no matter how much humor she used to defuse the situation.

"May I remind you that I have seen you in all states of dress and undress. I know of which I speak."

Joan was now blushing.

She had forgotten or attempted to forget the time he had walked in on her in the shower, his mind primarily focused on a question regarding a case. Unlike the many times he had woken her in her bedroom with no consideration of what she might be wearing or not wearing, she had pushed him out of the room with admonishment.

"Let me be serious," she trapped his thumb with her own. "As your former sober companion, I must remind you what The Program says about new entanglements."

His eyes bore into her.

"As I am sure you have noticed, I have abstained from such entanglements since my relapse. I have refrained from using sex as a replacement for other adrenaline-inducing activities."

"And now?" her voice wavered.

"And now I am tempted to end my recent celibacy. However, I recognize the effect that might have on our partnership and I would only do so if we mutually agreed that we could continue our cases in our current arrangement."

She smiled at him, a genuine Joan Watson smile.

"You make this sound like we are negotiating war and peace."

"A treatise would be reasonable, if not necessary, would it not?" he lowered his chin, his own voice taking on the serious tone she had found statements prior.

It was then, without warning, that Joan leaned forward, rocking to the tips of her toes and pressed a firm kiss to his surprised lips.

"It's sex, Sherlock, not the Treaty of Ghent."

His eyes sparkled, his features softened. She was treated to the rare side of Sherlock that she suspected only she was ever allowed to see. He presented a face that was both without the upper hand and without refrain.

"When you have decided you can handle this, you know where I will be," she released his thumb and pulled her hand from his chest before taking her cup of tea and heading for the stairs. "Oh, and Sherlock? Don't enlist Clyde in waking me. You've been disturbing his natural circadian rhythm."

As Joan proceeded up the staircase, Sherlock stood straight, used his hands to smooth invisible wrinkles from his tightening trousers. He then did something he only did when in Joan's company—he undid the top button of his shirt and allowed himself that precious freedom. He took a deep breath before turning off the kitchen light.

Sherlock climbed the stairs with determination.

 _-finis-_


End file.
